


Le Pardon de Dieu

by alexanderavery998



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, POV Hannibal Lecter, Season 3 AU, Whump, discussions of betrayal and forgiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:08:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23697511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanderavery998/pseuds/alexanderavery998
Summary: Will forgives like God forgives.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 40





	Le Pardon de Dieu

**Author's Note:**

> _I cross-post here (AO3), Wattpad, and FFN as_ @alexanderavery998. _If you find my fics anywhere else, please let me know, because that means they have been reposted without my permission._
> 
> This popped into my head one day, and tonight I was finally in the right head space to finish it, so here it is. Please double-check the tags before reading!

It’s worth stating that Hannibal contemplates killing Will as they watch the moon rise through the wide bay windows and Will doesn’t deny that he could let Hannibal die at the hands of the Red Dragon. Hannibal sets down the wine glass that he was cleaning and picks up the corkscrew bottle opener, fingering its sharp tip and imagining the different places he could drive it home. He knows he could best Will in a fair fight. So in an _unfair_ one, with the element of surprise on his side, killing him would be no problem.

But he can’t do it. He can’t kill him now, not now that Will has helped him escape from prison. Not now that they’re together again. Not now that Will is so close that Hannibal could reach out and touch him, hold him, _keep_ him. _You couldn't have killed him before that,_ mocks a voice that sounds suspiciously like Bedelia, but Hannibal can’t deny it. He holds the corkscrew in one hand, bottle of wine in the other, and lets the truth sink in. He can’t kill Will. He doesn’t _want_ to.

It stings like a bitter betrayal, except this time, it’s coming from himself.

“My compassion for you is inconvenient, Will,” says Hannibal, looking at him and then away as he waits for a response.

“If you’re partial to beef products, it is inconvenient to be compassionate toward a cow.”

Hannibal chuckles. But what strikes him is that he’s never seen Will as a cow. He has always been a different specimen altogether, something special, something unique and rare, meant to be savored, like an orlaton. And yes, it is inconvenient to feel compassion for an orlaton, no matter how intriguing and beautiful. No matter how sweetly it sings.

Hannibal twists open the bottle of wine with a pop, sniffs the cork, and sets the corkscrew down on the piano. His only weapon, rendered impotent by the cork embedded in it. The worst part is that he doesn’t regret it for a moment. He picks up the wine glasses and takes them to Will.

“Save yourself, kill them all?” he says, handing Will a glass and pouring him a generous amount of wine.

“I don’t know if I can save myself.” After a long pause, Will looks up and meets his eyes, as if he could bore right into his very soul. “Maybe that’s just fine.”

Hannibal holds his gaze for as long as he dares, but for once, Will isn’t the first to look away. It’s Hannibal who turns, breaking eye contact, and steps away, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Outside, shadows flicker. Bushes rustle where there is no wind, and a strange, pungent scent lingers. It’s feral. Shot through with adrenaline. Anticipatory.

They have company.

“No greater love hath man than to lie down his life for a friend,” Hannibal says, pouring a glass of wine for himself, and he thinks it’s the closest he’ll ever get to telling Will that he loves him. That feels like betrayal, too. It is the very universe betraying them, giving them one last chance to be together before snatching it away.

When Hannibal finishes pouring, he holds out his glass and tips his head in the equivalent of a toast. Will’s eyes meet his, then flit away. Hannibal takes it as an opportunity to step between him and the bay window as Will says,

“He’s watching us now.”

Will’s eyes find Hannibal’s again.

Hannibal takes one last moment to memorize his beloved’s face. “I know.”

He doesn’t even have a chance to take a sip of his wine before pain rips through his back and abdomen. The wine bottle shatters in his hand; the bullet must’ve gone clean through. In a flash of quick thinking, Hannibal drops the rest of the bottle to free his dominant hand before he slumps to the floor, pressing his fingers to the wound. Blood is soaking through his shirt and suit jacket. _Šūdas!_

He rolls with difficulty onto his back, leaning against the leg of the piano. When he has the opportunity, between gasping for breath and spinning words to gold for the Red Dragon, Hannibal looks up at Will. Will’s eyes are on him like an indifferent deity, his head tipped ever so slightly to the side, contemplating him. Contemplating his life and whether or not he will save it. Will’s darkness is on full display, and Hannibal holds his gaze for far longer than is strictly necessary, drinking it in. It crosses his mind, not for the first time, that if he were to die, he wants it to be at Will’s hands and Will’s alone.

The Red Dragon is talking again. Hannibal catches the glint of a knife being unsheathed in the low light, and his eyes flit back to Will. Not pleading, nor accusatory, just open. Full and honest transparency. As if he could say without words, _your move, Will. What’s it going to be? My life is in your hands._

Will’s hand drifts to his gun.

Then the Dragon sinks the knife into Will’s face.

Shock and rage unfurl in Hannibal’s chest at the same time. His vision tunnels and becomes a haze of red as blood rushes to his brain. Time slows down, too — he can almost watch the individual droplets of blood fall as Will chokes and splutters. The Dragon lifts up, driving the knife deeper into Will’s cheek, and when Will opens his mouth, blood gushes out. His hand falls away from his gun.

Hannibal can’t see anything but red: red blood, red shock, red _fury_. The adrenaline surging through him is enough to nearly numb the pain in his abdomen. The Dragon tosses Will like a dead body through the broken window, and when Will rolls to a stop on the cold pavement outside, he doesn’t move.

Gritting his teeth, Hannibal struggles to his feet.

It isn’t a smart move, with the amount of blood flowing from his bullet wound, but he can barely feel the pain anymore. As he approaches, the Red Dragon pulls Will into a kneeling position. Hannibal is too late to stop the knife from sinking into Will’s shoulder, but when he leaps onto the Dragon’s back, the Dragon immediately lets go. Hannibal wraps his arms around his neck, but he can’t get a sufficient grip to snap it.

Hannibal is thrown off. He rolls across the patio, slamming his shoulder painfully against a decorative boulder, and blacks out for a moment. When he returns, the Dragon is over him, lifting him by his neck. The world spins and dips in and out...

...and then the Dragon roars and lets go of him. Hannibal drops to the ground, gasping for air. He can hear and smell Will’s presence. Something akin to pride, relief, and affection unfurls in his chest, but it is cut short by a kick in the face.

Hannibal falls back and gropes at what he fell against. His hand wraps around an ax. With a new burst of strength, he climbs to his feet and swings it into the Dragon’s lower leg. Will struggles to his feet and sinks the knife into the Dragon’s other leg.

The Dragon falls onto all fours with a roar.

Hannibal stands on both feet with difficulty, and watches Will struggle to his. Will has never looked more beautiful than he does now, his eyes dark and glinting in the low light, unruly curls slicked with blood, and mouth half-open, panting from pain and exertion.

They don’t speak. They don’t have to. Their eyes say a thousand words.

Hannibal drops the ax and leaps onto the Dragon’s back. He grips the Dragon and watches with rapture as Will strikes, stabbing the knife into his abdomen and pulling all the way across. At the same time, Hannibal sinks his teeth into the Dragon’s throat, savoring the gush of blood and sinew in his mouth. Then they fall back, as if on cue, and watch the Dragon splutter and bleed out on the patio.

Hannibal swallows his mouthful and touches his abdomen, where blood continues to flow. He can only feel a dull ache. The adrenaline running through his system has numbed him to most of his pain, but he can tell the bullet wound will be a bitch as soon as the adrenaline wears off. A bitch, and a possibly fatal one, at that.

He limps toward the cliff edge, and affection rears its head again when he sees that Will is making his way there, too. _Soon all of this will be lost to the sea._ Will must remember his little speech on the cliff side earlier.

Hannibal limps to a stop. Will has his hand outstretched, and he is looking at it as if he has never seen it before. Blood drips from his palm and fingers down his wrist. Hannibal wants to taste it, touch his lips to Will’s pulse point and feel the life surge under his skin.

“It really does look black in the moonlight,” Will says, glancing at Hannibal. His voice is raspy, almost devotional.

Will holds his hand out, and Hannibal takes it, grasping onto Will as if he life depends on it. Hannibal pulls him up and holds him there, almost scared to look into his eyes. They are so close that he can sense Will’s body heat, smell his adrenaline and the blood oozing from his wounds, and feel his breath on his face as the man gasps for air.

“See?” Hannibal whispers, his eyes flitting across Will’s face and then away, unable to hold eye contact for maybe the first moment in his entire life. “This is all I ever wanted for you, Will.” He pauses, the words caught in his throat. “For both of us.”

Will’s eyes slowly trace up to Hannibal’s face, as if something is dawning on him for the first time, and a small, breathy chuckle escapes his lips. “It’s beautiful.”

Will reaches up and touches Hannibal’s shoulder, then grips his shirt tightly, as if he never wants to let go. Hannibal’s eyes flutter to Will’s lips. He has never wanted to kiss him more than in this moment. But before he can, Will leans his forehead against Hannibal and pulls him close, nuzzling his neck and sighing into it. Tears form in Hannibal’s eyes against his will. To have Will so close to him, initiating the contact, after they killed a man together... His whole body sings with the pleasure and ecstasy of it. The contact is almost too much after three years’ imprisonment, and yet not enough at the same time. Hannibal grips Will’s waist. Hesitantly, Hannibal nuzzles him back, leaning his head against Will’s and breathing him in, nosing at his bloody hair.

“Oh, Will...” he whispers.

Will’s grip on him loosens imperceptibly. Before Hannibal can react, a sharp, hot pain shoots through his gut on the opposite side of the bullet wound. Hannibal doesn’t gasp, but it’s a near thing. He tightens his hold on Will’s shoulder, gritting his teeth in shock as the pain spreads across and up his abdomen. His mind is too fuddled from the euphoria of having Will in his arms to realize what’s happening until it’s too late.

Will has stabbed him.

Hannibal staggers, leaning into Will, and opens his mouth in a silent gasp as Will yanks the knife across his abdomen right into the bullet wound and twists. A choked, bubbling sound escapes Hannibal’s throat.

One thought echoes endlessly through his mind palace: _Will stabbed him._ Will has dug a knife into his gut and carved a smile into it as Hannibal did to him years ago, but not with the intent to keep him alive. Will has stabbed him, cut him wide open, and Hannibal doesn’t have the willpower to fight back.

He could struggle. He could take Will out with him in his last dying breaths, wrap his hands around Will’s throat, yank the knife from Will’s hand and stab him back.

He won’t.

_No greater love hath man than to lie down his life for a friend._

Hannibal nearly laughs at the irony, but all he can do is gurgle blood. His knees buckle, and Will catches him, holding him tight to his chest as Hannibal had once done to him. There’s something so tender about it. Poetic. Loving. _Intimate._ Hannibal’s intestines press against Will, their embrace the only thing keeping them from falling out onto the rock beneath their feet. Blood gushes from his abdomen, thick and hot. Hannibal can feel his life force leave him in time with his heartbeat. Will’s grip is crushing.

“I forgive you, Hannibal,” Will whispers in his ear. His voice cracks with his next words. “Will you forgive me?”

Will lets go of him, knife still in hand, and Hannibal is falling. Hannibal’s last glimpse of his beloved reveals the tears streaming down his cheeks through the sticky blood. Then there is nothing but rock cliff face whistling past and the raging Atlantic waves below, reaching up to swallow Hannibal whole and welcome him into their depths.

_Yes, I will forgive you, Will._

_I already do._


End file.
